The Bastard Who Cried Wolf
by bookwormgirlLH
Summary: It's Eddie's birthday and, surprise, surprise, Richie's ill - or at least, he says he is. But is this time different? A little preview:' "I'm really ill, Eddie, feel my forehead." Richie whimpered. Eddie took a step backwards. "Look, Richie, do you remember the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf?"' Rated T for language. I would love reviews, positive or critical! No slash
1. Chapter 1: Eddie

Eddie

Eddie Hitler awoke to a rare rush of excitement as he realised what day it was - it was his birthday. He was determined that his birthday wasn't going to be ruined by Richie this year; he had hidden any curry powder or paint he had found, so Richie couldn't fake being ill like he had last time, causing Eddie's party to be cancelled. Eddie was looking forward to the evening, when Spudgun and Dave Hedgehog were coming round to get totally drunk, wind up Richie, and watch Emmerdale Farm on the telly - it was going to be great!

Creeping downstairs, Eddie went to the doormat, where several envelopes were scattered - he had hidden the superglue too, so Richie couldn't glue the letterbox shut - and picked them up, feeling excited. He sat at the kitchen table, flicking through the pile of letters: three were bills, which he threw straight in the bin and another was for Richie, which also hit the bottom of the rubbish bin, but the rest were all addressed to Eddie. He was about to open them when he heard Richie's voice, high pitched and croaky, from upstairs,

"Eddie!" Richie called, "I don't feel well."

"The bastard!" Eddie muttered, "If he's trying to ruin my birthday again, I'll kill him." And he thundered up the stairs, fists clenched, ready to give Richie a right whack.

He entered Richie's room, and saw his flat mate looking pale and clammy, curled up on his side, shivering, but wasn't convinced. "If you want me to believe you're ill, Richie, you'll need to do better than that - even the green paint was more convincing."

"I'm really ill, Eddie, feel my forehead." Richie whimpered.

"No thanks." Eddie took a step backwards. "Look, Richie, do you remember the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf?"

"Yeah - boy cries wolf, but he's lying, so when a wolf does come, no one believes him." Richie sounded slightly drunk, but Eddie knew he couldn't be drunk - the pub was closed yesterday as Dick was having it refurbished, much to Eddie's distress.

"Yes - so if you keep faking it, when you really are ill, I won't believe you." Eddie warned, leaving the room.

"Please, Eddie, my stomach hurts, my head hurts, I feel crap." He moaned.

"Bollocks." Eddie stormed downstairs, hating Richie - this was the only day of the year he wanted to be about him, and Richie was trying to balls it up. Well sod him, Eddie thought firmly, he was going to have the best party ever, and there was nothing Richie could do about it.

Ignoring the melodramatic groans emanating from upstairs, Eddie sat down and picked up the first envelope. A few minutes later, Eddie had cards from Dave, Spudgun, Dick Head, the pub landlord - whose card contained a voucher 'for one, and ONLY one, Eddie, drink in the Lamb and Flag' - and, to his surprise, Richie. Richie's card had a nude woman, with Sue Carpenter's face glued over her head, on the front, which made Eddie grin, until Eddie remembered that Richie was performing Operation: Cancel Eddie's Birthday Party for the second year in a row.

Eddie spent most of the day drinking whatever he could get his hands on, which included bleach and Old Spice, and ignoring the sounds of Richie groaning and vomiting, before heading out to the pub as soon as it opened, leaving Richie alone in the flat.


	2. Chapter 2: Richie

Richie

Richie Richard awoke to a throbbing headache, a stabbing stomach ache and the feeling of being absolutely freezing. With a feeling of dread, Richie remembered what day it was - it was Eddie's birthday. He could barely hear through the blood beating in his head, but Richie heard Eddie moving about downstairs, and thought about calling out, but stopped himself - Eddie wouldn't believe him if he told him he was ill, for he had faked being ill last year to make Eddie cancel his party, so Eddie would think he was faking it again. But as a wave of nausea made him retch, Richie felt so dreadful that he would risk telling Eddie he was ill, for he was desperate for company,

"Eddie!" He called, his voice very croaky and rough, "I don't feel well." Richie curled up, hugging his knees to try to keep warm, and soon, Eddie was entering the room. Richie knew he must look bad, but Eddie's face remained unsympathetic,

"If you want me to believe you're ill, Richie, you'll need to do better than that - even the green paint was more convincing."

"I'm really ill, Eddie, feel my forehead." Richie whimpered, wanting Eddie to feel how sweaty he was, in the hope that his flat mate would realise he really was unwell.

"No thanks." Eddie took a step backwards. "Look, Richie, do you remember the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf?"

Richie thought hard, his headache addling his brain, "Yeah - boy cries wolf, but he's lying, so when a wolf does come, no one believes him." Richie knew he was confirming Eddie's suspicion, but felt to crappy to think up a witty answer.

"Yes - so if you keep faking it, when you really are ill, I won't believe you." Eddie warned, and he spun on his heals, leaving the room.

"Please, Eddie, my stomach hurts, my head hurts, I feel crap." He moaned wishing Eddie would believe him.

"Bollocks." Eddie said over his shoulder.

Richie was left alone in his room, his stomach ache getting progressively worse, feeling totally bored, but far too weak to indulge in his favourite pastime. He began to sob, holding his stomach with both hands, wanting a painkiller but, as they were downstairs and Eddie was ignoring him, he knew that he wasn't going to get them.

He felt so shit; the stomach pain now felt like his insides were being burned, and his head was pounding badly, stronger than any hangover he had ever had. He couldn't stop a groan of agony escaping his mouth, shivering harder as his sweat soaked his pyjamas. Suddenly, Richie's stomach lurched, and he tried to get out of bed, but his feet were tangled in the sheets, and he crashed to the floor. Landing on his stomach, Richie nearly screamed in pain, but had to keep his lips clamped shut as his cheeks bulged. He staggered to the bathroom, bumping into the wall, and only just got his head over the filthy toilet bowl in time. He was violently sick, stomach cramping, eyes watering, sweat running down his back, before crawling back up the stairs, groaning loudly to try and attract Eddie's attention, but he was still being ignored.

Richie finally clamoured back into bed, and as it reached the Lamb and Flag's opening time, he heard the front door slam.

"Well isn't that just effing marvellous!" Richie muttered bitterly, before curling up and finally drifting off to a light, feverish sleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Eddie 2

Eddie crashed through the doors of the Lamb and Flag, and upon spotting Dave Hedgehog and Spudgun, yelled at the top of his voice, "IT'S ME - THE BIRTHDAY BOY!"

His friends rushed over to him, stumbling slightly, clearly already drunk, and both thrust a glass towards him, spilling most off the booze in the process. Eddie took both glasses and downed the remaining alcohol, smiling broadly, happier than he had been in a long time.

"Happy birthday, Ed." Spudgun grinned, clapping Eddie so hard on the shoulder that his legs almost gave way.

"Yeah, Merry Christmas, Ed." Dave slurred, staggering sideways into the bar.

Eddie chuckled. "Er... It's my birthday, Dave.", he said and Dave shrugged, not remembering that he'd just made a mistake. Eddie headed over to the bar, behind which stood Dick Head, the bartender, and held out his voucher.

Dick raised his eyebrows, "Very well then, have a drink. What do you want?" He sounded very unimpressed, taking the voucher from Eddie's hand.

"Can I have..." Eddie thought hard. "A pint of Malibu?" He winked at Dave, who blinked back, and Spudgun, who screwed up his face, but failed to wink.

Dave sighed. "A pint!" He said in disbelief, but poured it and handed it to Eddie, who took a sip, a look of ecstasy spreading across his face.

Eddie, Spudgun and Dave sat at a table, sipping their drinks. It wasn't long before Eddie remembered his morning, and he began to rant about it.

"Do you know what Richie did today? He only pretended to be ill to try to cancel my birthday like last year! He's such a bastard!" Eddie yelled, seething with anger as he recalled their discussion.

"That's not fair." Dave agreed, whilst Spudgun nodded.

"He's so jealous that I've got friends - its pathetic." Eddie spat, hating Richie, but he soon became so drunk that he forgot what he was cross about in the first place.

* * *

"Time, gentlemen!" Dick called from behind the bar, and all of the men in the pub left, if reluctantly. Well, all of them except Eddie, Dave and Spudgun, who were all asleep at their table, at least a dozen glasses around them.

Eddie slowly raised his head, peering blearily across the pub at Dick, whose arms were crossed, an impatient scowl on his face. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like vomit - which explained the pool of sick under the table - and he seemed to have lost all motor functions, for as he tried to stand up, his legs gave way ans he smacked his face into the floor. The other two were no better, but they all forced themselves to their feet, and somehow staggered towards the door.

Dick raised his eyebrows as Eddie wobbled past him, unable to believe how Eddie could get so drunk - Dick knew he'd be in hospital if he drank a pint of Malibu, but Eddie was not only conscious, but on his feet, if a bit unsteady.

The three of them somehow made their way back to Eddie's flat, having to crawl up the stairs to stop themselves falling back down again, before Eddie unlocked the door on his fifth attempt at getting the key in the lock, and they all fell across the threshold.

Eddie waited for a 'Where have you been?" from Richie, or another "EDDIE!" from upstairs, but all he heard was silence. The flat was quiet, he thought, too quiet...


	4. Chapter 4: Richie 2

Richie

Richie groaned as he woke up again, realising that he felt even worse than before. A hideous taste of acid lingered in his mouth, and his throat burned from vomiting earlier. He tried to look over at the clock, but he found his neck too stiff to move his head, and the sudden attempt at movement shot an excruciating pain right through his pounding head and then down his spine. Richie whimpered, just wanting the pain to go away. When he couldn't take it any longer, Richie tumbled out of bed, banging his head into his bedside table.

"Shit!" He cried, feeling tears well up in his eyes. As he knew he was far too wobbly to walk, Richie crawled across the room and opened the door. But as the door opened, and daylight poured into his previously dark room, Richie screamed as it almost blinded him, covering his eyes as quickly as his limp arms could move. It hurt like hell, but Richie forced himself to open his eyes - but he had to squint like mad to stop his head practically exploding with pain. He then crawled to the top of the staircase before bumping down it on his backside, rubbing his hands together, for, despite the fact he was now very hot, his hands felt absolutely freezing.

By the time he had reached the kitchen, Richie was extremely out of breath, and found himself feeling nauseated again, but this time, he managed to not vomit. Rummaging through the cupboard, he eventually found a packet of paracetamol, which, as he couldn't be bothered to get a glass of water, he opened before swallowing to tablets without water. They tasted disgusting, but he was past caring.

Crawling over to the table, Richie saw the cards, and remembered that it was Eddie's birthday. _If he thinks I was trying to ruin his birthday,_ he thought_, how do I show him I wasn't lying to him. _Wiping his sweaty forehead on his sleeve, Richie's flushed face lit up as he thought of something. _I know what to do! I'll decorate the flat to show him I want him to enjoy his birthday! _It wasn't the bast plan in the world, but he was really ill, and it made him grin properly for the first time that morning.

Somehow, Richie managed to drag himself back upstairs, where he pulled himself into his blue jeans, shirt and tie, but as he tried to bend over to pull on his shoes, Richie's head spun and he toppled forwards, smacking his face into the wall, feeling the bloody begin to trickle down his face. Using his bed to haul himself to his feet, Richie swayed drunkenly, the pressure inside his head so strong, it felt like his skull was going to explode. Stumbling across the landing, Richie then found the Christmas-come-birthday decorations, before bumping down the stairs again.

* * *

Several hours later, Richie sat slumped on the sofa, barely able to see, hands and feet freezing cold, face flushed and sweaty, waiting for Eddie to return. As if on cue, he heard the door bang, and the voices of Eddie, Spudgun and Dave Hedgehog slurring in the hallway, all of them sounding totally drunk. Richie staggered back over to the table, waiting for Eddie to enter the room, feeling strangely excited.

Eddie stumbled into the room, and as a look of pure surprise spread across his face, Richie tried to grin back. "Happy birthday, Eddie!" He cried, before retching again, and running over to the sink. Richie threw up bile - the only thing left in his empty stomach - all over the kitchen sink, before falling to his knees.

"Are you alright, Richie?" Was the last thing Richie heard before he fainted, banging his head into the floor as his vision clouded, his body relaxed, and his eyes slowly closed.


	5. Chapter 5: Eddie 3

Eddie

Eddie burst in through the kitchen door, and stopped dead, staring around and wondering what the hell was going on. Richie had clearly decorated the room, for the Christmas lights were wrapped around the coat stand, the bunting, fairies, and ceramic Father Christmas were dotted around the room, and Eddie's birthday cards were now stood on the top of the telly. But what surprised him the most was that Richie, who had tried to cancel his birthday party, was standing by the table, grinning at him. Looking closer, however, Eddie could see that Richie was actually leaning against the table, and his smile was strained, pain visible in what little of his eyes Eddie could actually see, for he was squinting badly. Richie had bothered to change, but as he had put his shoes on the wrong feet, and his tie knot was wonky, Eddie guessed that he couldn't see very well, and wondered why that was.

"Happy birthday, Eddie!" Richie cried, voice much more high-pitched than usual.

Spudgun and Dave both stepped back behind Eddie as they saw Richie, Dave whispering to Spudgun, "It's the psycho.", sounding scared.

"Is this it, Eddie?" Spudgun asked, looking around the empty room.

Eddie made to reply, but he heard Richie retch loudly, and turned to face him. What little colour Richie had left in his face vanished, and an even thicker film of sweat appeared on his skin, before he retched again, and his skin become almost pale grey. Eddie watched as his flat mate ran towards the kitchen, legs wobbling violently beneath him, wincing as he heard Richie throw up violently all over the sink.

"Are you alright, Richie?" He asked cautiously, tiptoeing across the room towards where Richie was hanging onto the sink, making revolting choking noises as he continued to vomit. Wondering what was wrong with Richie, Eddie walked slightly faster, struggling to stay conscious as he remembered how drunk he was, but before he could reach him, Richie gave one last cry of pain before passing out, hitting the floor with a thump. "Richie?" He said slightly nervously, lightly kicking Richie's leg.

"What happened to him?" Dave asked, joining Eddie beside the vomit covered sink. "Does anyone know first aid?"

Eddie shook his head, feeling strangely guilty. "Nah, that won't help, mate. I think he's ill, not hurt."

"I know a bit about illnesses - I come from a large family, and someone's always ill." Spudgun explained, making his way across the room. But he lurched sideways into the table, and smashed it, ending up lying in a pile of wood on the floor. Rubbing his shoulder, he staggered to his feet, and dropped to his knees beside Richie, staring at him. "He doesn't look good." He said after a few minutes, noting Richie's pale, clammy face and flushed cheeks.

"Well he wouldn't, would he - this is Richie we're talking about." Eddie joked, making them all laugh. This wasn't really the time gor laughing, but they were all very drunk.

"Hang on." Spudgun muttered as something caught his eye; He flicked Richie's collar length hair out of the way, revealing a red, blotchy rash on the side of his neck. "Oh, shit, this isn't good." He said, looking up at Eddie.

"What is it?" Eddie asked.

"I can't remember what it means, but he's got a rash, and a temperature - and my mum always said that's bad news." Spudgun didn't like Richie, but, even so, he didn't think he deserved to die.

Eddie nodded, and went to dial 999. He told the ambulance dispatcher Richie's symptoms, before hanging up, having being told an ambulance wad on its way. He soon found himself in the back of an ambulance, along with Spudgun and Dave, all three of them using the gas and air to pass the time, despite the paramedics telling them it was only for patients. Richie was still unconscious, electrodes stuck to his chest, and as Eddie listened to the ECG machine bleep in time to Richie's heartbeat, he couldn't help but think: _Well this has been a shit birthday, hasn't it?_


	6. Chapter 6: Richie 3

Richie

Richie slowly became aware of a warm, numb sensation flowing through his body, and found himself too sleepy to open his eyes. The severe pains in his head he had been tormented with before fainting were now just milder, throbbing aches, and the bright lights that made his closed eyelids glow red were no longer making his eyes hurt. Continuing to wake up, Richie heard many bleeping sounds all around him, and the voices of two women talking in whispers at the foot of his bed. Despite being seriously ill, Richie couldn't help but force his eyes open to stare perversely at the two figures, but he found they faded in and out of focus, vision blurring. The nurse obviously spotted Richie's eyes were open, because she hurried over to look at him, smiling broadly.

"Hello, Mr Richard." She said softly.

Richie tried to speak, but found his voice muffled by the mask strapped over his nose and mouth, so she found it hard to hear him. "What happened?" He slurred.

The other woman, dressed in a white coat, joined the nurse next to his bed. "You were brought in by ambulance three days ago, Mr Richard-"

"WHAT?!" Richie yelled, immediately regretting it as it badly hurt his head.

The doctor continued as if he hadn't spoken to her, "and you were diagnosed with severe bacterial meningitis, in its late stages. You are very lucky to be alive."

"Where am I?" Richie asked idiotically, too shocked by the news - he didn't really know what meningitis was, but he had heard it was bad news if you got it - to even chat up the doctor, who was very attractive.

"In hospital, Mr Richard, on an intensive care ward." The nurse explained. Silently, she picked up a mirror from Richie's beside table, and held it up so he could see his reflection. Richie couldn't believe what he saw: an oxygen mask was strapped over his face; electrodes were stuck over his bare chest; his hair was full of some sort of grease, which allowed more electrodes to be stuck to his scalp; an IV drip was pumping clear fluids into both his inner elbows; and another bag was hanging from a frame near the foot of the bed, a clear tube going under the blankets, obviously to a catheter. _Bloody hell! _Richie thought,_ a catheter. That means the nurse has seen my knob!_ He wasn't sure if this information made him feel embarrassed or impressed.

"You're on strong antibiotics to clear up the infection, Mr Richard, so you should be out of intensive care in a few days, and hopefully out of hospital in a couple of weeks." The doctor continued.

"Does this mean I get a sponge bath?" Richie asked as innocently as he could.

The nurse sighed, already guessing his intentions. "I guess so." To distract Richie from the topic of sponge baths, the nurse said, "The three men who travelled to hospital are in the waiting room."

"Really?" Richie mused. He was surprised that Eddie, not to mention Spudgun ans Dave Hedgehog, had actually bothered to come and see him, particularly when the nurse added that they were there yesterday too. "Can I see them?"

The doctor was suddenly called back down to Accident and Emergency, leaving the nurse to go and get Eddie and the others. Eddie grinned at Richie as he walked down the ward towards him.

"Alright, Richie?"

"What do you mean 'alright!?" Richie cried, "I nearly died - but you didn't bloody believe me, did you?" He was so angry with Eddie; if the bastard had just believed him, he wouldn't have ended up in intensive care, almost dead.

"Well you're the bastard who lied last year, so why would I believe you now - I told you about the Boy Who Cried Wolf, Rich!" Eddie yelled back defensively.

"Will you be quiet?" A nurse hissed down the ward. "These patients are all seriously ill."

Richie and Edie continued to argue, but now in whispers. "I hate you!" Richie snapped.

"I hate you too - the bastard who cried wolf." Eddie hissed back, looking quite pleased with his comment. This was when the nurse returned, and, upon seeing them arguing, sent Eddie and his friends off of the ward for winding up Richie, leaving him pondering what Eddie had just said.


	7. Chapter 7: Eddie 4

Eddie

"How are ya doing, me old mucker?" Eddie asked, walking through the curtains surrounding Richie's bed. Taking Richie by surprise, Eddie was disgusted to find himself staring at Richie, who had his hands under his hospital gown, a look of ecstasy on his sweat drenched face. Attempting to back away, Eddie couldn't stop himself screaming, "My eyes!", having a I-really-don't-want-to-look-at-what-you-are-doing-but-I-can't-help-myself moment. Even after twenty five years, Eddie still forgot that Richie was a complete wanker - in every sense of the word - and wondered how he hadn't expected this sight before.

Richie looked up and, realising Eddie was witnessing him masturbate, shrieked, face flushing with embarrassment. "Hello, Eddie." He said as lightly as possible, breathing heavily. He reached, to Eddie's horror, for a box of tissues, and wiped his hands, still unable to look at his flat mate. After thinking desperately for a few seconds, Richie finally thought up an explanation for having his hands on his knob, "Just so you know, Eddie, I was putting my catheter back in, because it-"

Eddie shook his head, knowing Richie was making this up out of nowhere, for he knew what Richie had really been up to. "You had your catheter out two days ago Richie, because you're not bed bound any more, so you don't need it." Eddie explained, treating Richie like the idiot he really was. Richie was looking more and more flustered, and Eddie pressed on, loving seeing Richie looking so helpless. "And besides, who could forget that moment - you got a stiffy when the nurse pulled your catheter out, and she slapped you when you gave her your scary - I mean _sexy_," Eddie put heavy, sarcastic emphasis on the word_ sexy_, for he knew Richie was anything but. "-face. It was bloody hilarious!" Eddie chuckled at the memory, his laughter increasing in volume - now loud enough to wind up a nearby nurse - as Richie scowled, looking wounded.

"I didn't mean to." Richie muttered indignantly, "I just got a bit involuntarily aroused, that's all."

Eddie, desperate to leave the conversation about Richie and sex (Two words that Eddie thought should never - or could never - be together.), decided to change the subject. "So, how are you?"

"To be honest, I wish I was back in intensive care." Richie admitted. Eddie didn't understand initially - why would Richie want to be nearly dead again - but, as Richie continued, he got it. "Yes, yes, yes,yes." He repeated, nodding at Eddie's disbelieving face. "because that morphine they gave me was _lovely, _it made me feel all fuzzy, and the nurses on this ward won't give me sponge baths - it's not fair."

Eddie could tell, by the way he looked and talked complete bollocks, that Richie was getting better, but the bastard still looked very weak, and presumed he would feel weak too. He soon found he was mistaken.

"Well that's not very surprising, is it, Richie? I mean, why would a nurse ever want to get within ten feet of you, let alone touch you?" Eddie said, watching Richie glare at him, but not expecting a reaction.

But Richie suddenly, and forcefully, kicked Eddie in the balls, knocking him to the lino.

"What was that?" He cried, holding himself - that bloody hurt. How did Richie, an invalid on antibiotics, have the strength to kick him so hard?

"A surprise." Richie replied innocently, but Eddie saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Eddie raised his fist to hit Richie back, but a bell for the end of visiting hours suddenly rang, and the irritated nurse escorted him off of the ward. He was still in pain, having to walk slightly hunched over, and still felt annoyed with Richie for kicking him - but also for being such a bastard all the time, and ruining his birthday party. Eddie knew that Richie really hadn't been lying about being ill, but, as Richie had still ruined Eddie's birthday, he wasn't going to forgive him in a hurry.

But despite all these negative thoughts about Richie, Eddie knew that, but didn't understand why, he would be coming to visit the bastard tomorrow, and the next day, until Richie was discharged - a phrase that put a disgusting image into Eddie's double entendre addled brain.


	8. Chapter 8: Richie 4

Richie

He had been in hospital for a whole week, and the novelty had definitely warn off, for Richie was totally bored, but, after his encounter with Eddie, he was too scared to indulge in his favourite pastime in case someone else saw him. The antibiotics were almost finished now, so Richie was impatiently awaiting a CT scan - whatever that was - but the nurses wouldn't talk to him, and he was so bored without anyone to talk at that Richie felt thoroughly depressed.

Even Eddie, who had come to see him every day, probably more out of bordem than concern - but Richie wouldn't accept this despite it being true - wasn't visiting any more. Well, he wasn't actually allowed to visit any more, for the hospital had banned him; Eddie had got into a fight, for reasons he had never explained to his flat mate, yesterday with a patient on Richie's ward, and, after knocking the man out, the nurses had literally kicked him out of the hospital, threatening Eddie with the police if he returned. Richie had laughed at the time, but, as he hadn't seen the bald man since then, he was actually starting to miss the bastard being around. Eddie had even given him a bottle of Malibu as a get well present; it had been empty, but the thought was there (as Eddie had spent the whole visiting session hiccuping, it was obvious where the Malibu had gone).

Sighing, Richie glanced around in an attempt to find something to do to relieve his bordem, but, as both his neighbours had drawn their curtains - both of them got bored with Richie constantly talking to them as soon as they were moved onto his ward -, he found nothing to look at. Instead, Richie looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows in exasperation at the hideous gown the nurses made him wear. He had begged Eddie to bring him in his pyjamas, but Eddie forgot every time - so Richie was stuck in the hospital gown. Since he was no longer in intensive care, Richie had lost the electrodes on his chest and head - but the weird gel had left his hair disgustingly slimy - and the tubes up his nose, but one of the drips remained in his arm, antibiotics trickling into a vein.

"Good morning, Mr Richard." A cheerful nurse smiled as she entered Richie's cubicle. He had never seen her before, which explained why she was so happy - any nurse who knew Richie dreaded having to go near the perverted, disgusting man.

"Oh, hello." He said, eyebrows raised - she was very attractive.

Ignoring the supposedly seductive expression on Richie's pale face, the nurse announced it was time for his scan, and Richie gulped, suddenly terrified by what it could be. The nurse saw his apprehension and smiled reassuringly, before helping Richie into his wheelchair, and wheeling him down to the radiology department. The whole of Richie's journey was spent imagining what the scan could involve, and he scared himself so much that, by the time they arrived, Richie felt ready to vomit.

But when the met the - male - radiologist, he found out that the scan was very simple, and actually painless. After being made to lie down on the bed, Richie watched the red lights circle his head as the bed moved in and out of the large machine. When it was over, the attractive, but clearly not interested, nurse took Richie back to his ward, narrowly avoiding Richie's attempt at slapping her bottom. As she left the cubicle, Richie sighed again as he realised he would never see her again, but thinking of her gave him the courage to indulge in his hobby again, so at least he wasn't bored - for about thirty seconds.


	9. Chapter 9: Eddie 5

Eddie

Being banned from the hospital was possibly the highlight of Eddie's week. He no longer felt obliged to visit the bastard, although he only did that because he was bored stiff, so Eddie was now free to do whatever he wanted, and didn't have Richie constantly talking at him. Eddie was already permanently drunk, but, since being kicked out of the hospital - his balls still hurt - he had spent even more time in the Lamb and Flag, spending all of Richie's secret stash of money that he had found whilst looking for Richie's dirty magazines (they were under his mattress).

He had been in the pub all day, drinking pint after pint with Spudgun and Dave hedgehog, and was rather pleased with himself, for he only threw up twice. But, at eleven, a slightly reluctant Dick Head had thrown him out, and Eddie had somehow stumbled back to the flat. After countless attempts at getting the door open, Eddie finally staggered into the flat, finally realising that he hadn't locked the door in the first place. Crashing straight into the wall, Eddie fumbled for the light switch, immediately regretting it as the bright lights seemed to burn his sensitive lights. He wondered if this was how Richie felt last week, but decided he didn't care.

Venturing into the drawing room, a bleeping sound hurt Eddie's head, and he staggered around blindly, trying to find it. Eddie crashed into the piano, the blare of several keys being played at once sounding overwhelmingly loud, and realised that the sound was much louder over here. After a few more minutes of struggling to stand, Eddie picked up the phone, and finally silenced the bleeping sound as he pressed a random button. Sighing with relief, Eddie suddenly shrieked, jumping badly, as the phone began to speak to him.

"You have three messages."

"Ooh." Eddie remarked, as if this was the most high-tech thing he had ever seen.

Richie's voice was then played, and he didn't sound very impressed. "_Oh, so you're not in, are you, Eddie? Well, whilst you're out enjoying yourself, I want you to know I've been discharged from the hospital, and would like to be picked at some point."_

Eddie sighed; Richie was so irritating. And why did he need to be picked up - there was nothing wrong with him? His question was answered in the next message_, _Richie now sounding desperate.

"_Please, Eddie, come and get me. The doctor says I'm not safe on my own - I sort of fell over earlier - so, as you're the closest thing I have to a family member, they won't let me leave unless you get me._" Richie's tone of voice changed, so he now sounded irritable. "_I know you're there, young man, so pick up the phone and bloody respond, rather than loafing around like some vast slug."_

Eddie chuckled slightly, for Richie was wrong, he genuinely hadn't been in when Richie left that message. He listened again as the third, and final, message played.

Richie's voice screamed so loudly that Eddie had to hold the phone away from his ear. "_EDWARD ELIZABETH HITLER! Come and pick me up from the bloody hospital, you selfish, lazy BASTARD!"_

Knowing how pissed off Richie must be right now, and also realising that it was nearly midnight, Eddie unplugged the phone and staggered up to bed, deciding to pick up the bastard tomorrow morning. As he pulled off his shoes, coat and hat, Eddie imagined Richie sat alone in the waiting room, having to wait all night to be picked up, and started laughing, falling asleep with a huge grin on his face.


	10. Chapter 10: Richie 5

Richie

It had been five o'clock in the evening when Richie got his CT scan results back - it should have taken a lot longer, but he, as he had such a dangerous infection, was considered a high priority patient. He had been visited by the friendly nurse from the radiology department, who, with a beaming grin on her face, told Richie that his infection had cleared, the swelling had gone right down, and he was free to go. After giving her his (what he thought was) attractive smile, Richie thanked the nurse, hoping for a kiss, but she either didn't get the hint, or, more likely, just wasn't interested. But, as Richie tried to stand up, he had found his head swimming, and crashed to the floor, totally disoriented.

"Honestly, Mr Richard." One of the nurses who worked on the ward sighed, helping Richie back onto the bed. Once he had regained his balance, he pulled himself back into his clothes, but found them rather baggy.

_Brilliant!_ Richie thought ecstatically as he tightened his belt. _I've lost weight! This should shut Eddie up the next time he tries to call me overweight._

Hauling himself into his wheelchair, Richie wheeled himself along the ward, before getting stopped by the nurse who helped him a few minutes earlier.

"I need to escort you down to reception, Mr Richard." Her voice told Richie she didn't want to help him any more than he wanted her help back - she was a bitch who clearly wasn't interested in him.

"Why?" He asked, but she ignored him, and wheeled him through the hospital before arriving at reception. Dumping the chair quite roughly at the desk, the nurse hurried back to her ward, glad to get away from Richie. He cleared his throat loudly, and the receptionist looked up at him. He could see she was chewing gum - which was totally common, if you asked him.

She asked for his name, which he gave, inwardly cringing at the sound of it - Richard Richard was such an awful name. "Can you take a seat for a few minutes?" She asked, going back to her computer screen.

Richie raised his eyebrows, about to say _I AM sitting down!_, but gave up, deciding to just move over to the waiting area, for he was still knackered from being ill. Picking up a magazine - a creased, year old issue of Cosmopolitan - and began to read, or, rather, just ogle the photos inside it. It was only when someone tapped him on the shoulder and told him to be quiet, that Richie realised that he was making noises aloud, but couldn't help it - he was just too pervy. The other members of the waiting room were very glad when the receptionist called Richie back over, for he put the magazine back down again.

Upon reaching the desk, Richie said, "Yes?" in a slightly impatient voice.

"Okay, Mr Richard," The receptionist began. She handed him two pieces of paper, "This is your care plan, and this is your prescription. I'm afraid that you'll have to wait for your next of kin to pick you up before you can leave, because your doctor doesn't think you're safe to be out on your own after you fell over earlier." Her voice was monotonous, clearly bored rigid of her job.

"But I don't have a next of kin." Richie moaned, but the receptionist explained that a person who lived with him would count as a last resort, so, reluctantly, Richie took his emergency twenty pence piece from his pocket and used the payphone to call Eddie.

But when Richie heard the answering machine play, he realised Eddie wasn't home, and left a message, "Oh, so you're not in, are you, Eddie? Well, whilst you're out enjoying yourself, I want you to know I've been discharged from the hospital, and would like to be picked at some point." But when Richie thought about it, he realised that Eddie wouldn't come if he was grumpy with him, and reluctantly decided to grovel, "Please, Eddie, come and get me. The doctor says I'm not safe on my own - I sort of fell over earlier - so, as you're the closest thing I have to a family member, they won't let me leave unless you get me." A sudden thought came into Richie's mind, and he yelled down the phone, "I know you're there, young man, so pick up the phone and bloody respond, rather than loafing around like some vast slug." By now he had ran out of money, so Richie went back to the magazine table, ignoring the fact that everyone was staring at him. He scowled when he realised that someone had moved the magazine, and was forced to sit in silence, staring into space. Just for something to do, he went and collected his antibiotics from the pharmacy, feeling embarrsssed when he said he was unemployed, but then pleased, because it got him out of paying for them.

* * *

Two hours went by, and Eddie still hadn't arrived, so, after begging everyone in the room for some change, he finally had enough money to phone again. "EDWARD ELIZABETH HITLER! Come and pick me up from the bloody hospital, you selfish, lazy BASTARD!" He screamed into the phone, provoking a hiss of, "Shit up, Mr Richard." from the receptionist.

After many more hours, it finally dawned on Richie that Eddie wasn't coming, and, giving into his fatigue, fell asleep in his wheelchair, hoping the lazy git would come and get him tomorrow morning.

* * *

"You BASTARD!" Richie yelled as Eddie walked into reception at eleven o'clock the next morning. Eddie looked well rested, but was very pale, telling Richie he had a killer hangover. Having woken up with a crick in his neck, Richie's head was now cocked slightly to one side, which, he noted, Eddie seemed to find very funny. "What time do you call this?" He asked, eyebrows raised, folding his arms.

Eddie searched for his watch, but couldn't find it, and shrugged.

"It's eleven o'clock! I called you seventeen hours ago, young man!" Richie looked so angry he was ready to cry.

Despite Richie's outburst, Eddie ignored him, and wheeled the invalid out of the hospital, quickly doing the wanking sigh as he passed the desk; if Richie had been looking, he would have seen the receptionist return the gesture at his back.

* * *

When Eddie wheeled Richie into the drawing room, he looked around, noting how the flat now looked even worse.

"Where would you be without me, Eddie?" Richie chuckled.

"The pub." Eddie replied, face deadpan. "Which reminds me," Eddie said, heading for the door again.

"You can't go - you're supposed to be looking after me!" Richie cried, wheeling himself after his flat mate.

"Just watch me." Eddie said triumphantly, slamming the front door behind him.

"You bastard!" Richie yelled, sighing heavily as he realised that him being ill hadn't changed anything _at all _between them.


End file.
